


shoes off, goggles off

by cultfilmx



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Long-Term Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultfilmx/pseuds/cultfilmx
Summary: "He wasn’t just a body to you; it was him or nobody. You barely trusted people, let alone men into your life, and Bodhi had proven himself to be the exception. You couldn’t sleep anymore without him beside you. When he had off-planet trips it felt like gravity was off-center knowing he wasn’t in close proximity. When he was beside you it felt easier to exist. He was all soft, and you were rough edges. You had spent so long convinced that you had helped pull him out of his depression, that you hadn’t considered that maybe his love for you was just a dam, blocking off the flood of unsettling sadness inside of him. You needed him, and maybe he no longer cared if it was you--he just needed someone."--You've been dating for over four years, and sometimes doubts leak through.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> based off irl convos with my partner. part 2/smut to be released really dang soon cus im almost done it. hope this isnt too cheesy.

“I feel like he’s underrated cute, but still super cute—“ Comes the voice of a female engineer above you.

“—no, no, no he’s definitely cute, just underrated in compari—“ Interrupts the second, also female, voice.

“—yeah, but, like only cus he’s nothing like Cass—“

“—but also if you talk to him he’s soooo nice!”

“Who?” Sounds a third voice.

“Bodhi Rook.”

Your head shoots up in surprise, slamming against the pipework above you. The collateral damage of the collision is you've somehow managed to bite down hard enough on your lip to make it bleed.

"Motherf..."you trail off.

"You alright there?" Echoes the voice of one of your co-workers from above you.

"Yup, just being careless!" You call back, sound muffled by the hand against your sore lip.

This whole thing came as unexpected; You had heard a lot of station gossip in your days--especially among mechanics and pilots, something about all the oil and fumes got to peoples' heads and made them open up. There were three types of gossiping you often heard:

  1. Shit talking your superiors
  2. Shit talking your co-workers
  3. New recruits crushing on a superior/co-worker



It was nothing new hearing a few perverse one liners about Jyn Erso, and it certainly wasn't new to hear anyone fawning over Cassian Andor—but seldom few spoke of Bodhi. Or at least, not in your presence. While Cassian and Jyn rode the wave of missions that pursued Scariff, Bodhi chose to stay back and take on management roles, allowing him to oversee ships, their parts, their pilots, and their mechanics.

When the excitement of Scariff had died down, and new battles arose, Bodhi's heroics became lesser and lesser known as more and more recruits filled the Rebellion's base. With time, came less attention--just how he liked it.

That being said, you still heard his name muttered around base at least once on the daily, but you couldn't remember the last time it was in this kind of scenario. The last time you had heard words like these was before you two were officially dating, which was nearly four years ago now. If Bodhi was coming back as an "underrated favourite", you certainly were not ready to endure it again.

Looking back, it felt like you were his guard dog, since he often didn't have the courage to reject people himself. For months you were convinced he spoke to you simply because he didn't know how to get you to leave. The combination of his lack of protest to blatant flirting and unreadable doe eyed expressions lead many into thinking Bodhi was single, until told otherwise. You were thankful that those years were behind you. The two of you, still not affectionate in plain sight, we're at least now known by many long-time rebels to be in a relationship.

"I know, I know he's super cute but apparently he has a girlfriend of forever."

"Actually? Who?" The one nearly shrieks in surprise.

It's silent--which either means someone is mouthing something or shrugging.

"Do you think they're still together?" The third voice asks loud enough for you to realize they don’t know it’s you.

"I dunno. Apparently she's a pilot too?"

"Pfft. As if." You mutter under your breath. You realize you’ve been screwing at a bolt aimlessly for far too long, making it unnecessarily tight. Giving up, you shake out your now sore arm and sink down to your knees, tilting your head upwards to examine the insides of the ship--it's bones, it's muscles, it's heart, all hardwired and built to fly.

You often wondered if being a mechanic made you a burden to Bodhi, that maybe getting him outside of the base would help him deal with his trauma.  Maybe what he needed was a pilot for a partner--someone who understood his love of flight, but simultaneously his fears. Maybe Bodhi was hardwired to fly, and you kept him sheltered, too busy trying to fix up paint chips to pay attention to the collapsing insides.

You dropped your tool with a resounding clang and crawled your way out from underneath the ship.

"On second thought, I think I'm going to run to the infirmary and grab something for my lip," You say far too hurriedly, before nearly bolting out of the area.

\--

You push open your shared room quietly, and just as you suspected, is Bodhi, hunched over his desk, staring emptily at something beyond the wall. He had a habit of zoning out, practically leaving the room when he was still in it. He tended to do it most when he was tired, overwhelmed, or upset. Finally, after a moment, he takes note of you, turning his head towards you. You found it hard sometimes to convince yourself that when he looked past you, it wasn't because he was ignoring you, he was just there, back on Scariff.

“Hey,” He mutters softly, followed by a sigh as he removes his goggles and places them on the desk. He looks back at you again, this time really registering you. “What time is it? Are you done already?”

“No, I…” You take in his face, the sallow divots under his cheekbones, the fade of purple below his eyes. Did he always look this tired? You’d think you’d notice, you look at him every morning. “I...I wasn’t feeling well, so I just came to lie down.”

You tug your boots off, not even caring to properly untie the laces. You shrug off your coat, abandoning it on the floor. The room is the perfect temperature of cool against your feet.

He reaches out to brush his fingers against your hand, an attempt at comfort you. You narrowly avoid his touch, trying to make it seem accidental.

“Do you want me to leave? Do you need quiet?”

“You’re quiet enough.” It comes out bitter, the words are nothing, but there’s a strange nastiness to them. You hope he doesn’t notice, hope he’s his usual oblivious self. You crawl under the sheets and pull the blankets over your shoulders. Your bed smells of both of you; the stale sweat of your essences, like engine oil, like that earthy smell that only he has. Laundry was often a luxury when times get hard.

You peak over the folds of the blankets, trying to catch his expression. He’s looking at the floor, but his face reads clearly to you and it shows he feels hurt. You can’t even bring yourself to apologize. What were you apologizing for? A mean tone of voice?

But Bodhi, although at times clueless, was also deeply intuitive.

“Why are we still…?” You begin. He blinks at the floor, then lifts his heavy lids to look at you.

“Why are you asking that?” It’s quiet, and even harmless the way he asks, but it stings so deep that he doesn’t unleash a list of his favourite things about you, or a “because I love you”. He can only answer your question with another question—he doesn’t know why he’s with you, he doesn’t know why you’re with him, he doesn’t see the difference between you or any other person lying beside him: a body is a body to him.

He wasn’t just a body to you; it was him or nobody. You barely trusted people, let alone men into your life, and Bodhi had proven himself to be the exception. You couldn’t sleep anymore without him beside you. When he had off-planet trips it felt like gravity was off-center knowing he wasn’t in close proximity. When he was beside you it felt easier to exist. He was all soft, and you were rough edges. You had spent so long convinced that you had helped pull him out of his depression that you hadn’t considered that maybe his love for you was just a dam, blocking off the flood of unsettling sadness inside of him. You needed him, and maybe he no longer cared if it was you--he just needed someone.

You throw the sheets off of yourself and grab one of the towels that laid crumpled on the floor from your last use. “I’m going to take a shower.” You snatch your soap and rationed shampoo, and with a huff you set off, not even granting him a look back.


	2. Chapter 2

 

You trudge back down the hallway, trying not to let yourself drip everywhere—you had forgotten a new change of clothes in your room. It wasn’t uncommon to see people in towels crossing the base, but it wasn’t exactly considered the most professional of moves. However, in times of war, people tended to leave their heads elsewhere.

You opened the door slowly, in an attempt to make as little noise as possible, as if you could maybe slip into your single room without Bodhi noticing.

He’s lying in bed, under the covers, his jacket and jumpsuit flung haphazardly on the floor. You can tell by his breathing that he’s awake. The angry echo chamber of inner dialogue comes to a halt. Even if he didn’t love you, you still loved him. That was unavoidable. It was impossible not to.

A rolodex of memories, impossible to forget; his drunken forwardness with you: how he’d grabbed your shoulders and spun you around just to tell you he thought you were pretty _and_ nice “even though a lot of people found you hot but mean”. That dangerous glint he had in his eye when male mechanics and pilots spoke down to you. He had let you stitch your name on the inside sleeve of his jumpsuit. He had let you cut his hair.

You lay down beside him, still wrapped in your towel and damp. As if instinctively, you reach your hand up and run it through his undercut.

He flinches in response to your touch, something you had gotten used to over the years. “Why did you ask that?” He practically whispers to the wall.

You sigh, untangling your fingers from his dark hair so that you can comfortably roll onto your back, “I heard these new mechanics talking about you.”

“Talking about _me_?”

“Yeah, they were talking about how fit you are, and how ‘underrated’ you are,” You realize more and more how ridiculous the whole situation sounds.

“What does that even mean…?” You nearly roll your eyes at his question, he was so oblivious sometimes.

“I don’t know even. But they all started wondering if you were dating someone…” You begin, “…and some of them knew you were dating _someone_ , but they weren’t sure who…” You trailed off.

“Okay,” He coughs, peaking a look over his shoulder at you, trying to get an understanding of why you were still so upset. “Well, did you tell them?”

“No, I hate telling people,” You grunt, brushing your fingers through your wet hair, trying to tug out all the knots.

“Why?” He asks, and you realize he really has no idea how you feel. He has no idea what it’s like to be with him. 

“Because they should know,” You pout.

“It’s not really their business, no?” He doesn’t get it. He’s never had to hear people talking about you like that. He’s never had to fear that you’d leave.

“Would you have told them?” You snap.

“I don’t think so,” He mumbles, still thinking the concept through.

“Exactly,” You spit, “Because you’re not dating _you_.”

“What do you mean?” 

He rolls over, trying not to push you off the small bed. He’s facing you now, big brown eyes taking in your practically naked form in. You fall quiet, unsure where to continue.

“You can tell, by the way I talk to people that I’m not available. You, you’re so…I don’t know? Available?”

“People still talk about you,” He furrows his brows together in frustration. “No, I swear! They do! A month ago I heard two guys talking about you in the showers.”

“…In the _showers_?” You scoff.

“Not like, _in_ the showers, but like they were in the refresher, towels on, talking about the best looking mechanics and you were their number two.”

You snort, “Only number two, hey?”

“They said Lee-yong was first, but I disagree," He throws in a small smile, a gesture to win you over. "Obviously."

“But no one does anything about it. You don’t have to practically pry women off of me!”

“No,” He swallows his grin. “I don’t.”

“Why do you let people drool all over you?”

‘I honestly don’t notice,” He practically simpers, and you roll your eyes. “Seriously! I don’t!”

A long silence falls over the two of you. You can feel him staring at you, but you can’t bring yourself to turn to him.

“Why are we still together?” You ask for the second time that afternoon.

“Do you think I’d rather be with one of them?” His breath dances across your shoulder and neck, letting little goosebumps rise.

“You’re a goddamn hero. You could be with anyone you want. You don’t have to stay with me, you never know when you’ll die, you should be with ever--“

  
“Do _you_ want to be with someone else?” He says so quietly, it’s barely audible.

You turn to him, still avoiding his eyes. For some reason the words are so hard to get out, and in the most serious voice you can muster, you say: “Kriff no.”

He laughs, and your entire upper body is speckled with more goosebumps. You shiver, and he takes notice of it immediately, lifting the blankets up in an attempt to beckon you to join him under the covers. After a few moments of awkward shuffling, you’ve found yourself underneath the blankets with him, warmer now that his arm is around you. He peeps downward at your practically naked form—the towel had managed to shuffle its way around, leaving both your hardened nipples to peak out. You’re close enough to his throat to hear him swallow.

“I don’t ever want to be with anyone…um…else. If that’s okay?” He chuckles nervously, and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs. You examine the column of his throat, where the patchy layer of facial hair speckles off. You snake your hand from its cramped position between you two of you to rest gently on his neck. 

“It’s very okay,” You say, realizing you’re smiling. You lay a soft kiss against his chin, trying not to hurt your sore lip. “But why me?”

“Because I almost died, and, uh, after you almost die you realize how insignificant and significant things are. You realize you don’t need anyone, or anything, and maybe nothing really matters. And you…” He inhales sharply as you nuzzle yourself closer to him, your now bare chest pressed against his clothed one. He seems at a loss for words for a minute, “You’re the most significant insignificant thing I’ve ever needed.”

You stay quiet, letting his words sink in. Your body is so close to his you can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“I thought, when I first met you, that this was such a bad idea. That liking you would be a mistake, that death was always just, uh, a second or two away and I could be there at any time, and you would just be some distraction, someone to let down,” He’s nearly whispering to you now, running his hands lightly along the side of your naked waist.

You place a few more kisses along his throat, bidding him to continue. He lets out a shaky exhale, the kind he would release when the two of you first started getting intimate.

“I really, really tried not to care--Sometimes I still catch myself doing it…and, uh, I’m sorry. I am. But I don’t think that the way I was thinking was how life is ‘sposed to be, you know? I really don’t think so,” His words send you back to when you had first met—how his face was always warped into a permanent lost puppy expression. “But you kept showing up in my thoughts and in my dreams, even when we barely knew each other yet, and you kept sitting beside me during dinners, and somehow you’d always end up beside me during th—“

“—during the weekly meetings, yeah, I know, I did it on purpose,” You admitted with a laugh.

“I thought so,” He mused, before continuing, “I dunno, if nothing really is important, then why did I almost die? Seems like a chance, or a sign or something.”

“But maybe it’s a sign to be a pilot again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t really know what it’s supposed to mean. But I know that being beside you just makes sense. I want to be here with you. I want this, and for a long time I never knew what I wanted. ” His tone of voice is different, it comes across as something close to certainty—a tone he so rarely used.

“You want me?” It comes out so small, so insecure.

“I do. A lot. I want you, and I’ll want you even if you stopped wanting me.”

“Are you sure?” Underneath all of your anger and jealousy seemed to be an uncomfortable, overwhelming, bubbling sense of fear.

“It’s probably one of the few things I’m sure about. I know we don’t have the same excitement we used to, but when I look at you it feels like…” He trails off, then reddens, clearly unsure of how to finish his statement sensitively. You nod, waiting for him to continue. “It feels like how flying used to feel, before all this—no, wait, different, yeah, different, but also better.”

You throw your head back, giggling at his flustered attempt at romance. When you open your eyes he is staring at you—not Scariff— just you.

“You’re, um, naked, yeah?” He pipes up, drawing his eyes away for a moment, only for you to place your hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours. You respond by pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Um, can I…?” He’s halfway across the distance to kiss you, his eyes nearly closed. You meet him there, lips touching lightly, his facial hair tickling your mouth. He suddenly smiles, and presses his mouth against yours with a little more ferocity. Your lip hurts, but you don’t care. He shuffles himself in a way that he can plant kisses along your neck. He mouths at your shoulders, like he’s trying to memorize your taste, like you might leave at any minute.

You’re warmed now, but just his presence alone allows for another round of goosebumps to rise on your skin. His hair is all across both your faces, and when you inhale all you can smell is him and its brilliant and it’s too much. He’s managed to sneak one hand underneath the swell of your breast, while the other finds its way underneath your neck so that he can guide your face again to meet his in a kiss.

“I love you,” It comes out so easy, it feels like it should.

“I love you,” He says back into your cheek, like its second nature.

He stops kissing you for a moment, a break in the languid pace, and squeezes you close to him, as if to reassure himself and you that this was in fact real. He holds you so tight it knocks the air out of you.

“Bodhi, I’m here, I’m here,” You grunt out from underneath him.

He finally relaxes, letting you catch your breath briefly before he’s once more back on you, pressing hot kisses against your bruised lips, and your jaw, and your collarbones and chest and breasts. He shimmies the blankets back a bit to get a better look at you—the sudden rush of cold air causes your nipples to immediately stiffen. He tries to hide his smile, but the perverse look in his eye is still visible. Even after everything, he’s still a boy, still attracted to you after all this time. He slowly leans down and laps lightly at you, just before encasing it with his warm mouth.

“Ah, okay!” You gasp, when he sucks just a bit too powerfully. “Oh…you’re…” Your voice trails off as he takes your other nipple in his mouth, giving it the same treatment. You feel his erection, unsurprisingly, hot and heavy and rutting against your leg. It’s hard to think about anything else after you’re aware of his stiffness.

“I want you now,” You let out airily, a confession for only his ears. He releases your nipple with a ‘ _pop_ ’, you catch sight of his expression, brown eyes blown wide.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” You can tell by the way that he asks that he wants it too, that he just wants to be inside of you, close to you, with you.

It had been forever since you had both been this excited about one another. Sex became tiresome, a task after long days of work. You had grown so comfortable beside him, you often forgot what you found attractive about him. But you liked his coarse body hair, and his chapped lips, and the way his stomach flexed when he was close to coming. You liked his protruding bones, and dark nipples, and rough hands—he was your ideal of attractive. When you first saw him, you knew immediately you wanted him, even if it meant fighting for it.

“I want your cock,” You coo, half-lidded. You feel his erection twitch against your leg in response.

“Um, oh, okay,” He inhales, eyes darting about, taking you in. He immediately lets go of your body, and begins to reach for the hem of his shirt. You grab at his hand quickly, stopping him.

“Please, now.” Your own urgency seemingly making you wetter, there’s this hum of something so intense between your legs you can’t think straight.

You bring his hands downwards towards the straining of material at his crotch. His pants are loose enough on his thin body that he doesn’t even need to undo them to get them off. He fights to tug them off and over his erection while still remaining under the covers, but after a moment of struggle he’s bared himself to you.

It becomes unbearable, you have to touch him; you trail your fingers into the dark hair that settle along the base of him. You nearly get lost in playing with his curls, until you look up at him and see how desperate he is for your attention, his lips parted, and his eyes wide. Never breaking eye contact, you wrap your hand loosely around his cock, pumping it softly.

“Are you going to fuck me?” You hum, “You going to fill me up?”

He nods dumbly, barely able to keep focus on you, he keeps sneaking glances at your breasts, then your face, then back to your hand around his hard cock.

“Well?” You muse.

He’s on top of you now, nearly smothering you in the material of his shirt, and you can feel his hipbones digging into you, and his chest hair tickle you, and his heavy breathing on your face, and his cock prodding awkwardly at the inside of your thigh—but this is him, and this is happy and this is how you’d rather have it than any other way.

You know his scars and beauty marks off by heart. You know the way his voice sounds when he wakes up from an accidental nap. You know the feeling of his hair after three days without a shower. You know him so well and it warms you to know something can be familiar in a lifetime—a lifestyle-- of such uncertainty.

So when he groans, in that particular way when he enters you, you know so well he’s close to coming. It’s been long enough that the stretch that accompanies his thickness is nearly uncomfortable, but you’re so full and so elated and it feels so perfect: This is what you needed.

He begins thrusting slowly, trying to keep his orgasm at bay—but with every thrust you practically shudder around him, deeply aroused by his every minuscule movement.

“You’re…” He begins, pushing himself so deep within you, you let out an uncharacteristically loud moan. “You’re my best friend.”

You can’t help but laugh. It throws you completely off-guard. Your head is so heavy with lust and an oncoming orgasm that you can barely register a proper response, all you manage is a simple “Bodhi…” But you say his name like it should be said, like it’s the name for the most important, most incredible person.

He smiles shyly, face dopey with love. He thrusts gently in and out of you, until he resumes his pace, a small smile still playing on his mouth.

It feels fantastic before it’s even hit you, but when it does it’s immense. You can feel yourself clench around him, bucking wildly into his plunges, sighing and groaning. He’s quick to follow--picking up speed until he’s pounding you threw the last of your orgasm, tight balls slapping against you, his eyes skewed shut.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes…” He’s practically whimpering, his ministrations growing more erratic, and with each final thrust he sloppily kisses at your face, missing your mouth in all of his excitement. You can feel the mixture of both your cum leaking out and dripping down your skin onto the sheets below and it is filthy and you’ve never been so content.

He tries not to collapse on you but still manages to pin you under his weight.

A blast of his breath hits your face, followed by a sharp laugh.

“Oh,” Is all he manages, and you can feel just by the way his beard tickles you that he is grinning so big.

“Oh,” You say back, smiling so hard that the cut on your lip reopens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was okay and y'all liked it, this is one of the most ~detailed smut~ i've ever written lmao


End file.
